


Auditon

by SparkleZombie



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 06:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30017874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleZombie/pseuds/SparkleZombie
Summary: Years before the events of “Birds of Prey.” When Roman met Victor. Originally posted to my Tumblr 2 March 2020.
Kudos: 5





	Auditon

Roman Sionis made his way downstairs from his spacious loft to the club below. He owned the building and almost everyone in it. Control, that’s what he liked. What he needed. The patrons were free to come and go but the art of getting them to come back, that was control. He had so much of Gotham in his hands! It was a very nice feeling. He was a man of many interests, and he owned many things.

He adjusted his gloves- simple but elegant matte black leather with shiny black metal skulls on the backs. Had to remind the people that he was the criminal mastermind Black Mask. Wearing the mask in the club just felt wrong.

It would tell him when it should be worn.

The club wasn’t open tonight. No, tonight the men Roman graciously employed had found someone he did not own. Tonight was an audition, of sorts. Roman wanted this guy. This guy was reported to have some skills, but he didn’t have contact information. Like, at all. For a guy all the tabloids had nicknamed, he was almost a ghost. You would think “The Gotham Butcher” hung out in an old slaughterhouse or something... nope. But that didn’t matter. Tonight, he was here, and Roman was going to add him to his collection …if he passed. 

If not, well. If Roman couldn’t own him no one could.

The club was dark save for a single light angled to hit not the stage but the acquisition. The legendary- well, no, that’s too much. The notorious killer, Mister Zsasz.

A hired man walked over and handed Roman a thick manila folder. It was stamped with garbage like CONFIDENTIAL and ARKHAM ASYLUM and DO NOT REMOVE FROM ASYLUM GROUNDS.

Roman glanced down to meet the killer’s eyes. ‘It’s weird,’ he thought, ‘I bribed that lousy asylum for his paperwork, he’s supposed to be this oh so scary dangerous super killer, but my fucking goons brought him to me no problem.’

Roman plopped down in his very expensive and comfortable chair. He flipped the patient file open.

“You gonna tell me why I’m here, or y’just gonna keep starin’?”

Mister Zsasz was bound to a chair, as was Roman’s tradition. Four of his hired help were on the stage, guns ready in case the prisoner- that wasn’t the best word but it would do for the moment- tried anything.

Roman sighed. Zsasz was just a mess. When Roman’s men found him, he was apparently ‘posing’ one of his victims on a park bench. He was still wearing his tacky orange asylum-issued pants. Hadn’t bothered to kill someone for a shirt. He has blood on his face. His head was shaved and face and chest were ruined with those damned scars. Roman could appreciate the commitment to a look, though. He also had really pretty eyes and was looking at Roman with a sultry, half-lidded look. He grinned,crooked, a flash of metal catching the dim light.  
Roman cleared his throat. He read aloud from the patient file in his gloved hands.

“Murderous Mister Zsasz, born to one of Gotham’s wealthiest families, top grades, popular, amassed a small personal fortune, parents died, you went off your shit, became a shitty gambler, lost it all, blah blah blah. Blah!” 

Roman snapped the file shut and tossed it aside. “I don’t fucking care.” Roman looked to his men and shrugged. “I don’t! Mister Zsasz’s story isn’t special.” He stood up and glanced down to the still-grinning killer. “Your story isn’t special.”

Roman closed the space between himself and Zsasz. He bowed a little in front of the prisoner, like a spectator trying to get a better look at the lurking tiger at the zoo. 

“YOU are special.” He pointed to the file he had thrown to the floor. “That? That’s garbage.” He signaled a goon. “Throw it out! And untie our guest, for God’s sake. Can I get you a drink, Mister Zsasz?”

“Water’s fine. On th’ rocks.”

Roman stood and adjusted his suit jacket- it was a newer outfit, shiny black with red pinstriping. He was trying something new, maybe bring back pinstriping and then trash it as a shit look two weeks later. “Okay, simple, but I can appreciate that. Someone get the man his drink!”

Roman glared at his men. “Did I fucking stutter?”

The men stumbled in to action, all holstering their guns. One nervously untied the killer, one scooped up the patient file to dispose of, one dove behind the bar, and one stood still on the stage, afraid to even breathe wrong in Roman’s presence. Roman made a mental note to fire all of them. Or set them on fire. That could be fun. The fucking smell, though, ew.

And then he had an idea.

“Mister Zsasz, you asked why you’re here.” He spread his arms. “I want to watch you kill one of my men.”

The men in question froze. The one on stage and the one behind Zsasz’s chair looked at each other. The one handing Zsasz his drink looked at his boss.

Victor tilted his head, owlish. “You wanna do what?”

Roman chuckled. “I want to watch, Mister Zsasz- Victor. Can I call you Victor?” He ran a hand over his hair, as if it had somehow become disheveled. “Let’s fuck the formalities for the moment, ‘kay?” He paced in front of the murderer. “I want to watch you, Victor.”

“You wanna watch me-“ Victor made a motion with his hand, miming the action in question. Roman stopped pacing and clasped his hands together, tightly, willing his frustration to ebb. “Yes,” he said. He stepped closer, into Victor’s personal space, took the drink from his unmoving terrified henchman and placed it in Victor’s hand.

“Have you ever done it for an audience?”

Victor took a drink without breaking eye contact with Roman and Roman felt something weird. “I mean, maybe, but that ‘audience’ became part of the act, if you get my drift.”

“The phrase is ‘if you catch my drift,’ and I do.” Roman leaned and touched Victor’s shoulder with a gloved hand. The gentle gesture caused him to startle, just a bit, those sultry eyes widened for a second. Roman placed his other hand on Victor’s other shoulder.

“I’ll pay you handsomely.”

“Don’t need pay.”

“Even if you’re… performing?”

Victor grinned a hollow grin.

”Your enjoyment’s gonna be all th’ pay I’d want.”

Victor Zsasz could move very fast. Roman had skimmed his file a few times. Mostly boring psychological bullshit, how he was all traumatised or whatever. But there had been something about some sort of special exercises in solitary, shit that kept him lean and flexible and kinda hot but in a gross way. It sounded stupid. But in action, it was beautiful. Everything seemed to slow down.  
Victor had stood and pushed- pushed!- Roman back. Roman stumbled back into his chair and watched.

Victor threw the glass of water down in front of him. He turned, grabbed the chair he had been tied to, and broke it over the waiter henchman’s head. The henchman stumbled back. Victor pounced, pinned the guy, straddled him, and used a piece of the splintered chair to destroy his carotid arteries, screams turning to gurgling as panicked lungs filled with blood, limbs flailing helplessly.

“Shhh,” Victor cooed, his voice soft and sweet. “I’m gonna set you free, baby.”

Roman watched Victor Zsasz dig his fingers into the guy’s torn throat and squeeze. With one hand, the man crushed the goon’s fucking wind pipe. The struggling ceased. Victor leaned back, eyes closed, and sighed.  
Roman bit his lip.

Victor stood and turned, the fresh blood splatter on him glistening on his lithe body like glitter. He stooped down to pick up a piece of his broken glass, and used it to gouge another mark into his torso.

He dropped the glass shard. He spoke, his voice light and dreamy. “Think I could get another water?”

Roman struggled to his feet, all sorts of unwelcome feelings causing his thoughts to run around like fucking morons. “Of course, Victor.” He straightened and gestured to the remaining goons. “Get the man another drink, clean this shit up, and remember this next time you even THINK of hesitating to follow my fucking orders!”

Victor grinned again. He was breathing heavily. He looked around and as a terrified henchman handed him a drink, he sighed. “Kinda fucked up yer club, sorry ‘bout that.” He took the offered drink and gave the henchman a wink. The henchman stumbled back and started helping the other one pick up the corpse of their coworker. The one who had taken the file away had returned just in time to hold the door for his coworkers. A quiet ‘what the fuck’ escaped his lips.

Roman shrugged. “It wouldn’t be a proper party place without a little, a little muss, here and there.” He glanced down at the blood, the broken glass, the splinters of the chair. Why the fuck had he ordered wood chairs? Was it even his order? Roman made a mental note to shoot whoever he had choosing decor.

Victor Zsasz absently rubbed at the bleeding tally mark. God, he was disgusting. He was unkempt, he had an ugly middle-class twang in his voice, his stupid asylum pants hung just a bit too low on his hips, and in the low light, he looked fucking perfect.

“Victor, I’d like to hire you.” The mobster was already planning it out. A whole ‘My Fair Lady’ montage. ‘My Fair Serial Killer,’ whatever. Because if Mister Zsasz was going to work for him, he’d have to look the part. He’d have to look presentable, but still psycho. Hmm. Roman made a mental note to call his tailor.

“Hire me to kill these guys? Guess you’re th’ boss.” He was already moving towards the door the henchmen had disappeared into when Roman stopped him by pressing a gloved hand to his surprisingly muscular scarred chest.

“No, no no, not them. Well, maybe them. But not now.” He withdrew his hand and gave Victor the Patented Roman Sionis Multi-Million-Dollar Grin. “I want you to be my right hand man, Mister Zsasz.” He gestured to the both of them. “You and I, we get each other. We were born into greatness and life fucked us over, but now we’re fucking life over! You and me, together?” He gave the Patented Roman Sionis Multi-Million-Dollar Laugh. “Unstoppable!”

He wasn’t finished. “And with my protection? You can walk around a free man, Victor. No one would dare lock you away ever again, not even that fucking idiot Batman. Stick with me, and you’ll, um, ‘free all the souls’ I want you to and get all the tally marks you need.” Roman gripped Victor’s shoulders and looked into those beautiful eyes.

“What do you say?”

Victor grinned his own sort of million-dollar grin.

”Why th’ fuck not? Sounds fun. Should we shake on it, uh, boss?”

”Oh, God, no. You’ve got henchman blood all over. I’ll get some paperwork drawn up… Oh, what the hell, I’ve got six pairs of these gloves…” Roman Sionis gripped Victor Zsasz’s hand tightly and they shook.

Roman could feel this was the start of a beautiful partnership.


End file.
